And why it is ok if your starter dies (a few times)
Sophomore year hit me hard. Not with anything dramatic, just a slow, hard-to-name kind of burnout. I stopped getting up on time. Stopped cooking. I stopped hanging out with my friends. Most mornings I stayed in bed scrolling until class started, and even then, barely made it. I wasn’t depressed exactly. But I was stuck.
One afternoon, buried in a TikTok hole, I watched a sourdough tutorial. I remembered my mother had gotten into baking during quarantine, and suddenly I wanted to try. Not because I thought I’d become the next great home baker, but because I needed something to do with my hands. Something that didn’t require a screen.Â
Homemaking a starter
I followed Alexandra’s Kitchen guide. It uses pineapple juice to create an acidic environment that wild yeast love. The process was simple: equal parts flour and pineapple juice on day one, followed by daily feedings with flour and water.
At first, the ritual felt good. Each morning, I woke up at the same time to stir in new flour and water. I even wrote down the time and weight, as Alexandra suggested. It gave me a reason to start my day, which I hadn’t had in a while.
But by the first week’s end, I noticed no bubbles, no rise. It smelled pleasant and looked fine, but it just wouldn’t grow. I kept hoping that maybe I’d see change overnight, but nothing. And weirdly, that made me feel worse. I was doing everything right, so why wasn’t anything happening?
In hindsight, I realize it wasn’t about the bread. It was about control. I thought I could fix how I felt if I followed the steps. But sourdough doesn’t always follow a timeline.
Still, I didn’t throw it away. I used some of the discards for pancakes and kept trying. Eventually, I decided to try a new method, this time from King Arthur Baking.
Second Rise
A few weeks later, I tried again. I used King Arthur’s sourdough starter guide this time, which felt more structured and forgiving. The process was basically the same, equal parts flour and water (I used 120 each), once a day but King Arthur emphasized that it’s normal for starters to slow down or look inactive, that a missed day isn’t the end of the world.
I started building my mornings around this tiny ritual: wake up, feed the starter, shower afterward, and get ready for class. I wasn’t suddenly cured of anxiety or back to peak productivity, but I had a reason to get out of bed. And that was something.
Over time, feeding the starter turned into baking with it. I shared loaves with my roommate and texted my friends who were baking experts for bread storage tips. Through my sourdough, I didn’t just reconnect with myself; I reconnected with people I care about.
What Sourdough Taught Me
Keeping a sourdough starter alive requires consistency, but it also teaches flexibility. You can miss a feeding, get behind, or restart. That lesson mattered more than the bread.
I still bake occasionally, but the starter doesn’t dictate my schedule anymore. It just helped me find one when I needed it. So if your starter dies, even a few times, it’s okay. Start again when you’re ready. Like the dough, you’ll rise too, eventually. Maybe not on schedule, but in your own time, and that’s enough.